all buttoned up.tag:typepad.com,2003:weblog-2216182014-12-03T18:37:23-08:00Glass Half Empty EnterprisesTypePadThis New Wickednesstag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451d12469e201b8d0a107ed970c2014-12-03T18:37:23-08:002014-12-03T18:37:23-08:00"The law is meant to be my servant and not my master, still less my torturer and my murderer." James Baldwin *** We are all waking up. Going to work. School. Doing laundry. Taking naps. We are looking to get...allbuttonedup

"The law is meant to be my servant and not my master, still less my torturer and my murderer." James Baldwin

*** We are all waking up. Going to work. School. Doing laundry. Taking naps. We are looking to get warm. Do good. Help out. Understand.

*** My years long interest in public education and what that means as far as access relies pretty heavily in my belief in systems. For the most part, it's a crappy thing to believe in. Systems fail us or our neighbors almost every day. Recently, my community has been having a conversation about who deserves access to what, as it pertains to public school. We have this amazingly brave and bold policy in Portland Public Schools called the Racial Equity Education Policy. The board adopted it several years ago and they have been painstakingly bringing the practices of our system in line with the policy. The policy basically states that all decisions need to be made with an equity lens: who has been historically negatively affected by the decisions we make? Who will be disproportionately affected by these decisions? It's goals are to reduce the achievement and behavior gap between historically under-served populations and white students. It is noble. It is REALLY hard to implement.

"Great!" You say. "I'm all for racial equity!"

Well. It's really hard to move systems that favour privilege without making people really uncomfortable. Portland is exceptionally bad at it. Generally. If it favours the liberal masses, the bearded cyclists, the multilingual vegetarians, or the boutique environmentalists, <other pacific northwest cliche>... Well, bring it on. If it instead, favours the poor, the black or brown, the disenfranchised....?

Get in line.

"We want you! We just need to make sure you don't make us uncomfortable!"

This is a problem. Policy props up privilege. It often legitimizes the very worst of intentions. In Portland, the policies of red lining and racial discrimination are built into our systems. What's worse, our celebrated individualism has created a system of "choice" in our schools, in our gentrifying neighborhoods, and in our legal system that favours only the people who know how to use it.

But you don't live here.

I get that.

But my guess is that you live somewhere that is held together with systems built to favour privilege. Your courts, your city council, your PTA (mine too!) is probably built on the status quo. And the status quo is usually nasty.

A friend of mine who works in the juvenile justice system, says that it's nearly guaranteed that if your parents are able to hire a lawyer for a first offense, you will almost never see the inside of a detention center. Pity those who's parents cannot.

There are terrible, terrible scenarios of justice miscarried in this country (and everywhere). They are framed as outliers and extenuating circumstances and the narrative around "just doing his/her job". In the face of this, here's what I'm asking, begging, pounding on the floor for you to do: challenge the system that works for you. Ask WHO loses when you benefit. (Win-win scenarios are almost always in the eye of the beholder.) Unpack your privilege. Drop the bootstraps. Put yourself in the shoes of Tamir Rice's mother, Eric Garner's wife or John Crawford's children. Ask WHY the system works for you. Get yourself really uncomfortable. Let yourself get angry.

This might only work if you deeply love people who are marginalized by the system. I mean, like, really LOVE and care for them. If you don't, then add that to your list.

*** "Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are." Benjamin Franklin

***

Take yourself out of line. Make room. Cry out. Do better.

Missed Opportunities. Part Three. (The Way it Never Was)tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451d12469e201b7c6ee9b9f970b2014-10-07T05:06:00-07:002014-10-06T22:06:04-07:00J and I have everything and nothing in common. We share kids, a dry sense of humor, and a disdain for picky eaters. We both have quick tempers and ample bottoms. It is actually much easier to think of all...allbuttonedup

J and I have everything and nothing in common. We share kids, a dry sense of humor, and a disdain for picky eaters. We both have quick tempers and ample bottoms. It is actually much easier to think of all the ways we are alike than to think of all the ways our lives are different. When I start to think about that stuff, I start to cry/get angry which is not productive/results in mad voice. It doesn't help that we also live about as far as you can live from each other and still be in this country.

When we were preparing for her kids to come to Portland for the summer she and I both knew it was going to be really difficult. I knew that they would all fight (they did. Profoundly), that I would run out of patience (spoiler: every day by 2), and that there would be days we would all wish things would go back to normal with everyone in the house that they belonged to. Those days were the hardest. I realized that we were exposing everyone to a sort of trauma that might be hard to recover from. So, I joked about it a lot. I did some of that aforementioned crying. She and I had real talk on the phone. I pounded on the floor.

I wondered why we thought we had any business doing any of this.

But. Even when everything was going wrong I knew in my bones that this was the only way through for our family. It's not as though someone might have predicted this situation based on our semi-typical "open" adoption set up: there were years of un-reciprocated communication and worries about everyone's health and well-being. We had asked for her address, etc., right from the beginning and after those first few months, we had given her all of our info. I didn't expect to hear from her, but I had hoped we would. And when we didn't hear it made it easier to not always do OUR best. I think that those experiences are the sort of things that give a lot of parents permission to let go and stop trying with their kid's other families. In those days of having two babies, a four year old, and drowning in diapers and strange work schedules, I made all the excuses in the world for not trying harder with J. It was harder to keep up with the letters and pictures than I thought it was going to be. I didn't know her and she barely knew us and maybe she just wanted to let us all go. Maybe it would be easier for her.

These are the lies we tell ourselves to get by.

Had we let go and had we just given up we would have lost so much. We would not have had this hard and beautiful summer. We would not have a deep and abiding love for our boy's brothers and sisters. We would not have been able to disrupt the fantasy that our boys were surely forming in their own minds about who and where they came from. Our relationship as a family would have stayed largely theoretical. We would not have a clearer picture of J's life and the choices she made when our boys came to us.That is... I don't know how to say this... powerful information that interrupts popular adoption narratives.

I know that, as parents, we don't all get chances to put ourselves out there like this-- even when we are desperate for them. Other times we get the chance and we blow it. I have written before (I think) that I believe that my boys live with a low level grief and understanding of loss every day. It is a part of them when they wake up in the morning and crawl in bed to give us a hug. When we are together with their whole family it catapults this grief into the middle of the room. It can get really ugly. This is, in part, because they know how many people they are connected to. They can suddenly put faces and feelings to their loss and it SUCKS and it HURTS and it's NOT FAIR. So when we get these chances we have to take that into consideration. And it SUCKS and HURTS and it doesn't seem FAIR and we open ourselves and say yes anyway.

J and I have talked about how we are blowing all of our kid's worlds wide open. I just want to put out there-- for anyone who is wrestling with something similar-- that it is worth it. This is a long game we are playing and it is worth it. There are people across this country who have loved my boys even when they didn't know if they would ever see them again and it is worth it. I don't know what is going to happen-- my kids could hate me for all of this. Actually, I'm pretty sure they will. I am choosing to believe that we can drive out some of that hate with the truth of all this difficult love.

Coming Backtag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451d12469e201bb0793ce39970d2014-10-06T16:09:03-07:002014-10-06T22:18:31-07:00This summer was hard and wonderful. Hard. We are not as good at being parents as we appear to be. Who is, you say? That's a good point, but it still bears saying: we are not as good at this...allbuttonedup

This summer was hard and wonderful.

Hard.

We are not as good at being parents as we appear to be. Who is, you say? That's a good point, but it still bears saying: we are not as good at this as we thought we might have been. We love our kids with the heat of a thousand suns and still it is not enough to cover the trauma or be the peace that our kids need us to be. When you have kids the old fashioned way you get to bluff your way through a bit. My friend said recently, "I get closed adoption... it's so much easier for the adoptive parents". She was being feisty and reckless, but we both groaned knowing that it is the truth of it all.

Easier is almost never better.

***

October is my favourite month even though it's still 80 something degrees outside this week and I'm neck deep in day to day stuff. I am not "delighting in the little things" because the little things are annoying and frustrating and there are many, much bigger things I would like to be neck deep in. But I had a fit of panic the other day when I wondered if maybe my hosting fees hadn't been paid and the last 10 years here were in the wind. I guess that means that I am not finished here.

Thanks for sticking with me here... If you are, indeed, sticking with.

(pola by my sister, of my kids, her kids, and my kids for the summer. Her beautiful pictures of these people, here.)

Figgy's New Patterns (and a giveaway!)tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451d12469e201a73d6f5fbc970d2014-02-04T12:16:08-08:002014-02-04T13:11:05-08:00I had an hour to sew on Saturday and I almost didn't take it because an hour? That's not long enough to get anything done. Except that it is long enough! It turns out one can turn out an entire...allbuttonedup

I had an hour to sew on Saturday and I almost didn't take it because an hour? That's not long enough to get anything done. Except that it is long enough! It turns out one can turn out an entire outfit in an hour.

This raglan T is part of Shelly Figuero's Heavenly Pattern Collection and I love it. Let me rephrase that: I looooooove it. She sent me the entire bundle of PDF patterns to review and they are all gorgeous, but you know, I only had that one hour! And even though I was set to cut out the Ethereal Blouse, I knew that I would be cutting it close. And anyway-- Truly is small and in desperate need of comfy clothes that haven't been worn by two or three of her brothers already. I made the Seraphic Raglan shirt (size 18 mos) out of cotton double knit from my stash (it is maybe the softest knit I've ever rubbed up against). Turns out I can keep making this shirt indefinitely, since Shelly graded it up all the way to teen size 16. The Sunki leggings are from Shelly's 2011 collection. I cut them out of a jersey skirt of mine and with elastic, they took 15 minutes of sewing time.

Shelly designs clothes that your kids are going to feel good wearing and that you're going to feel good sewing. The PDFs are full of colour photographs and skill building sewing. She loves to work with knits, and if you follow her instructions you might learn to sew with them. I didn't use my serger for either item (although I could have), so don't let a lack of one put you off. I've got the Stellar Tunic up next (knit body combined with patchwork sleeves!) after I finish one of raglans for each of the boys-- I think I could probably get all three cut out and sewn in two hours. Shelly is, mostly importantly, a good human being... in the years that I've known her she has constantly sought to live and do business in a way that affects postive change in her community. The fact that she puts out beautifully designed, modern kids clothes is just the start of the good work she's doing.

Figgy's is giving away a bundle of patterns to celebrate the launching of the line. Comment here and we'll pull a name this weekend (make sure you fill in your email, so that I'll be able to get in touch with you). AND, AND! She's got a monster giveaway at the end of the month that you won't want to miss. Enter here.

Missed Opportunities. Part Two. (Adoption. The Bit Where it Starts to Smart.)tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451d12469e201a3fc7938bc970b2014-01-20T18:31:39-08:002014-10-06T16:33:00-07:00"I am not writing an adoption blog", I said a few years ago. "I'm writing a fabric/sewing/kid/vintage crap blog". Adoption has been a part of my life and my story for a really long time. It was there long before...allbuttonedup

"I am not writing an adoption blog", I said a few years ago.

"I'm writing a fabric/sewing/kid/vintage crap blog".

Adoption has been a part of my life and my story for a really long time. It was there long before we filled out the paperwork for August or talked about how our family was going to look. The definition of family, the trauma of family, the complication of family, the appearance of family-- these are concepts that have woven their way through my life and the creation of my worldview more than any other force. When I cracked the door open on our family in this space, I should have either slammed it shut again, or swung wide the gates. I do not get emails or inquiries about bust adjustments or vintage crap, I only get emails about adoption.

And now, it seems, The Blog is Dead? Maybe I've missed my chance to make it right.

I want to make sure that I have not misled you or romanticized the choices we have made. I believe, with all my heart, that adoption is about being family for another family. It is about sharing the burden. It is not about finding a child or being chosen from a pile of bios-- it is making a commitment to be family to a family that cannot for whatever reason. I am not naive about the reasons that children are placed. I know that in this country, poverty, addiction, mental illness, and lack of support or safety nets create deep chasms. I know that there are institutional systems that make it easier for a white woman like me to adopt a healthy brown or black baby than it might be for that baby to stay with the family that it was born into. I know that many children are growing up with people who are not keeping them safe. I know that thousands of children are aging out of the foster care system every year and that many of them long for a family to call their own, whilst people like me pay thousands of dollars in fees to bring a tiny person into our home. I know that many mothers making the choice to place their infant, feel as if they have no choice at all-- while we are being fed the "brave and loving choice" narrative by the industry. I recognize that the story or history we are given during the process of placement might be a different story if we look for it in a year or three or ten. There is so much that we cannot prepare for. There are forces way beyond our control.

There are things, though, that are well within our grasp. We need to identify and hold onto those things. We need to start by telling the truth. We need to figure out if we're up for this kind of parenting... for this kind of family. We need to decide if there are ways we can help and support families that does not involve complete separation. We need to be able to allow people to change and grow and get the help they need. We are living proof that parenthood-via-adoption can be beautiful. I would also like to recognize that for as many happy and healthy situations adoption might create, it can also be devastating for kids and families.

I am parenting children that don't look like me, but that doesn't mean I've entirely dealt with all my bias about race or privilege. It's hard work, because I'm choosing to do the work. If you care about people who do not share your skin colour, you must do the work. Just because we have a biracial president does not mean that we are living in a post-racial society. Just because we participated in Orphan Sunday at our church, it does not mean we don't passively participate in the systems that create these orphans.

***

Paul's dad passed away this last year. He was kind and generous and he and Paul had been very close. He was also an unapologetic bigot. When we told him about our plans for adoption he asked us, very simply, to choose another way. He told us that we would have to choose between having a relationship with him or adding baby to our family through adoption. And so, almost seven years ago, Paul faced his dad and made that choice. We were not blind to the potential problem. It wasn't as though we had not expected a difficult transition. Many people had tried to excuse his behaviour, "well, that's just the way things used to be." They tried to tell us that he would change his mind based on a story they had heard from their brother or cousin or friend, "he'll take one look at how happy you all are, and come around! He loves you guys so much-- it will be okay!". It was not okay. It was terrible. Paul had to choose his family over his family.

YOU MIGHT HAVE TO CHOOSE YOUR FAMILY OVER YOUR FAMILY. He never met three of his grandchildren. The last time he saw Sam was just after Sam's third birthday. We left room for him to change his mind... we left room for reconciliation. When Paul called to tell him about Manny, his dad responded by asking about the weather. Still, we never, ever left room for having to apologize for our children. It is the barest of minimums that we could meet. It was an early reminder that Love Does Not Always Conquer All in human relationships.

***

Our family sometimes invites unsolicited attention or makes other people uncomfortable. There are times when we trigger people's frustration or contempt. Their disdain of our choices comes from their own experience or bias. Sometimes (more when the boys were smaller) women stop me in the grocery story with small talk, and I know they're checking to see if the boys elbows are ashy or if their clothes are clean. They might finger their hair and cluck their tongues at me-- offering advice or encouragement. On good days, I am grateful for their attention and I know that they are not looking out for me, but for my children. When I have run out of the house without paying attention to the lotion situation, or I have gone too long between visits to the barbershop, I cringe and smile and offer up lame excuses. Sometimes the You're-Not-The-Boss-Of-Me version of myself (think strong minded 15 year-old) rears its head and I feel self-righteous and frustrated. This is not helpful. We are choosing-- without apology-- to raise our kids within a community where they have role models and peers that look like them (yep, even in Portland!). This means we will face criticism. We are not alone. There are families-via-adoption (even international adoption!), that are doing this work every, single day. I am forcing myself to show up even when I'm uncomfortable. I am constantly acknowledging that we probably don't know what we're doing. I am getting better at asking for help. I see my son stare adoringly at black families and I want to wrap him up and tell him that it's okay and I know that it is confusing. I want to work harder and do better to make sure that he never has to apologize for who he is or how he was raised.

Most days I am a generic teeth brushed/don't hit your brother/homework done sort of parent. Most of the time our lives are filled with the every day stuff that has nothing NOTHING to do with these conversations. Sometimes I'm super crappy at keeping the every day stuff all together, let alone dealing with these Big Conversations that we are committed to having. These conversations are going to come whether or not we're ready for them. In an effort to avoid being knocked flat on my ass, we are trying really hard to have them.

What I want to say is this: all of this... all of this is the very, very least I can do. This is the barest of minimums that we must undertake.

This is the least I can write about. Swing wide the gates.

Missed Opportunties. Part One. (Adoption)tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451d12469e201a511188981970c2014-01-18T12:27:42-08:002014-01-20T18:51:30-08:00(photo by Posy Quarterman) I have been trying to figure out how to preserve some of this writing (print it? book? pdf to hard drive?) and in doing so, I have been reading back through the last 9 years. I...allbuttonedup

I have been trying to figure out how to preserve some of this writing (print it? book? pdf to hard drive?) and in doing so, I have been reading back through the last 9 years. I wince. I laugh. I think, "woman, you used to sew a lot of clothes. You used to sew a lot of everything". I'm happy I wrote about the kids when they were little. This is their baby book in so many ways. I am doing a lot of remembering which is great! The typos are making me crazy. You'd never know that I aced AP English in HS.

***

I was thinking about an all day seminar Paul and I took after we had submitted our adoption application. It was an orientation at the agency for prospective parents. They covered a lot that day, but the part that has lived with me-- haunted me!-- is the presentation by a woman they had brought in to cover cultural competency. She had been raised in a town South of Portland. She had brothers. She laughed about learning how to hunt and fish as a child while simultaneously learning (as most black and brown kids on this coast learn) "I-5 Stay Alive". She talked about "black hair" and what shampoo is good for babies. She left a card for a salon she liked. She talked about her life. She answered a few awkward questions. She was lovely. It was fine.

Sort of.

WHAT WERE THEY THINKING? This was not the information these families needed. This was a woman who had been raised by the parents that she was born to. She had a large family and support system. She did not indicate that she knew anything about adoption. Had she placed a baby? Had she been placed as one? At the time, I remember leaving that day feeling like it had been a giant waste of time. This was not helpful. Where were the adult adoptees in the room? Where were the people to say "I grew up in a home like yours and I turned out all right. Here is why"? Or better, where were the people in the room to talk about how it gone horribly wrong? They were missing, and for good reason. This is not a narrative that most agencies have sought to understand.

This was most frustrating because we felt like our agency was sensitive to these issues. As a part of our home study we had to complete a course covering racial identity and the ways it affected our worldview. We were asked to write a series of small essays detailing our history of prejudice, how race had affected our lives, and what practical things we were doing to prepare to raise a child of colour in the place that we had chosen to live. There was required reading. I read beyond the list-- books by adult adoptees-- all of which left me sobbing. I watched documentaries. I read about the history of transracial adoption in this country which included a lengthy account of how and why many social workers and adoption professionals lobbied against it. I read blogs by first/birth/natural parents who had placed their children. I read about the politics of hair and skin. I made sure our bookshelf was full of kids books that would reflect all the colours in our family. We had purposefully chosen to live in a multiculturaI neighborhood. In many ways, we had spent years preparing for this time. I told myself we would figure it out. I told myself that we were as ready as anybody. I told myself it would be okay. It was a baby! All babies need the same thing, yes?

***

I was reminded about all of this in the last few weeks after the fallout from Melissa Harris Perry's segment and subsequent (moving) apology. In response, NPR then aired a segment last week from an adoptive parent and author detailing their own experience parenting very young brown children (this is a beautiful and powerful response to that segment). This was a VERY difficult piece to listen to. This interview was not the story that prospective adoptive parents need to hear. These are not the kind of stories that should instill confidence in the adoption industry. These are, instead, the stories that we tell ourselves to make each other feel better. White folks, these are the stories we tell when we are trying to ignore the fact that we are participating in a system that is built around a crisis of poverty and inequity.

I want to make it clear that I love my children with the fire of a 100 suns. This love moves me to talk about things that make me uncomfortable. This love moves me to find peace in the way that multiple narratives (some of them conflicting) around our story can exist simultaneously. I recognize that this is our story. I know that no two families are the same. My understanding of these issues is evolving and I'm grateful for the people in my life who have suffered through those changes with me. That said, being a parent is not easy and it is often defined by heartbreak and a level of selflessness that would bring a monk to his knees. Being a family built by adoption, particularly transracial adoption, thrusts that heartbreak into the public sphere. If you are an adoptive parent you must make peace with that heartbreak. We have been complicit in our child's lost history. If we cannot acknowledge and seek to understand that loss, how will they be able to?

***

There is a Part Two somewhere in me. (And some of that aforementioned sewing... This is the only way I can think to maintain this space. Multiple narratives, people!) There are folks that write about these issues with far greater poise and power than I do. If you are a person who is looking at becoming a parent through adoption, SEEK OUT THESE PEOPLE. Seek out the hard stories. Make room for criticism of your choices. Understand that much of the criticism might be valid or may come from some place outside your experience.

Do not buy into the myth that Love Is All You Need. If that were true, my babies would not have been placed.

Something Soft. Something Bright. (3191 Edition)tag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451d12469e2019b0241f142970c2013-12-06T12:52:36-08:002013-12-06T14:21:48-08:00I have a small collection of one-of-a-kind pillows up on By3191 for their holiday shop. I have been doing some production sewing for Stephanie this year and when she asked me to think about doing something under my own name...allbuttonedup

I have a small collection of one-of-a-kind pillows up on By3191 for their holiday shop. I have been doing some production sewing for Stephanie this year and when she asked me to think about doing something under my own name I was: excited, nervous, thrilled and then back to nervous. What we came up with was a throw pillow-- sewn from shimmery shot cottons, lined, and then hand-stitched with sashiko thread. I made them to last, and I think they would make a terrific gift. The colours remind me of the Oregon coast and they are my favourite sort of neutrals. You can find them here. I am so happy to be there.

***

You all, I am being dragged into December this year. Tracy said something at Habit the other day... something like "it's my favourite time of year... that doesn't mean it's the easiest". I can't imagine a more accurate description of my own feelings about this time of year. The tree is up. There are stockpiles of gifts building in the scary corners of the basement. We are managing expectations (poorly in some cases). We are missing folks we love. I am happy, I am nervous, I am excited, I am nervous... you get the idea. We got our tree the other day. It's a bit too big, a bit too leany (precariously into the room, like it's comin' after the person sitting on the couch), and filled with things that are in imminent danger of being broken. Sam is fond of yelling "YOLO!!" at us (you only live once) when we are apprehensive about one of his suggestions. Little does he know, I'm taking it all to heart.

A Million Ways, Wreckedtag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451d12469e2019b0127ad19970b2013-11-15T18:04:33-08:002013-11-15T18:04:33-08:00Paul and I had hoped for what the adoption industry refers to an "open adoption". Wait. Let me rephrase that: we always hoped for what we thought the adoption industry meant by open adoption. What we quickly discovered that most...allbuttonedup

Paul and I had hoped for what the adoption industry refers to an "open adoption".

Wait.

Let me rephrase that: we always hoped for what we thought the adoption industry meant by open adoption. What we quickly discovered that most "open adoptions" are not really open at all. While families may meet each other or parents relinquishing their children may choose or interview an potential families, they may never know which state their child ends up in or what the adoptive families last name is. Most of the time communication is handled through the agency. Often agreements are made about how many times a year families are to send pictures or updates. Of course, it all hinges on good will and intention of the adopting family and none of it is really enforceable. Many times these updates are only expected for the first few years, or requested only once a year until the child turns 18.

Many families adopting infants feel safer with these parameters. Sometimes, it is our unexamined insecurities over the perceived legitimacy of the family we are attempting to build. Or, maybe it is our discomfort with the potential role that our child's bio family may play. At any rate, many of us welcome these guidelines. While we speak with great warmth or respect about our child's bio family, we are careful to not to push towards an actual relationship. To be fair, many bio mothers and fathers have their own feelings about desiring (or not desiring) a relationship, and sometimes the safety of the child is a factor. It is never simple. I know that. BUT. But. More often than not, it is the agencies setting these parameters for the relationship in order to reassure the adoptive family that they are in control, or to minimize the grief and loss inherent in these situations. Obviously, there are exceptions. Many agencies and states are working to discourage anonymity. Some families are able to see their way through their own stuff to find a healthy way of including part or parcel of their child's family. Even so, the more I've read and researched and lived, the more uncomfortable I am with what adopting parents have become accustomed to accepting. Domestic adoption is not the cloak and dagger secrecy of decades past. But sometimes-- specifically in the case of infant adoptions-- it doesn't feel like we've come far enough.

The out-of-state folks that facilitated both our adoptions were both pragmatic and empathetic. We have checked in with them over the years and J has told us that she felt like she was treated with compassion and honesty. We know other folks who have worked with them and have felt the same way. Still, we had to push through the status quo in that first year after Augie came home. While J had specified the type of communication she wanted, she had been advised by them as to what was "typical" and they cautioned us against providing too much identifying information initially. And while I understood their rationale for our particular situation, we let them know that we would like her to know as much as she wanted as soon as they felt it was appropriate. We talked it through. We understood the risks. Even then, I think we loved our kids enough to know that Paul and I would probably never truly be enough as they got older.

I want to talk about our feelings about openness and our reasons for desiring it in more detail, but for now, let me just say that our desire for each of our kids is that they have the best chance possible at feeling Whole. There will be plenty of unknowns in their lives, but there are also plenty that is known: including living, breathing, people that love them and know them as their flesh and blood. It is complicated (and I ask you: WHAT FAMILY ISN'T??) and heart breaking. It is also beautiful.

Which brings me to now and a trip we had been saving for and planning for a long time.

The six of us flew to Florida to spend precious time being in the same space as their living, breathing, loving flesh and blood. It was an enormous privilege. It might prove to be the best decision we ever make. I learned that 98% (conservatively) of who my kids are is related entirely to nature and that the nurture part of their being is merely a bonus. Turns out all the crap I've been trying as a parent... well... I can just stop now and live a little. They are going to be fine. We have always considered these people as a part of our family, but it is now something more than theoretical.

We are home now. Changed. I am wrecked. My kids are wrecked. The grief is palpable. But (and again, I say BUT) we are also closer to being whole and seeing our way through to something better.

It is a gift.

Diamonds in the Sky-- a String Block Quilttag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451d12469e2019b0019fc3a970c2013-10-28T11:30:00-07:002013-10-28T11:30:00-07:00I made this quilt this summer, fitting in sewing and pressing (and so much cutting during) the hour or two between dinner's end and bedtime's start. I knew it's recipient liked space and stars, the colour purple, flowers, and LIVING...allbuttonedup

I made this quilt this summer, fitting in sewing and pressing (and so much cutting during) the hour or two between dinner's end and bedtime's start. I knew it's recipient liked space and stars, the colour purple, flowers, and LIVING LARGE in her own 5 year-old way. Space fabric, by the way, is really tricky if you are looking to avoid robots. I pieced the back with strips of polka dots and Lizzie House's constellation and moon phase fabric. I really like that whole line, but came to it late and so I had to scramble around a bit to find what I needed.

The blocks were constructed with foundation piecing. I cut the purple squares, marked a line on each of them where my first strip of fabric was to go, and then pieced the rest of the strips to the block, cutting the strip ends away to match the original square. I will tell you one thing-- this is another example of why I should not be left to my own devices when it comes to quilt math. Or math in general. Or perhaps even counting.

I neglected to calculate how big the total block (four purple squares together) would be in relation to my targeted finished dimensions. It is a rookie mistake-- and one I make repeatedly. Still, this turned out exactly how I had hoped, and maybe even a little better, despite the size discrepancy. While I was strip piecing the blocks, I tried to turn off my brain and just pick randomly from my pile of strips. I did have a few rules: try putting in at least one dark blue/navy print, use orange sparingly, etc. The real payoff for a scrappy quilt like this is seeing the sum of all its parts (whether or not your immediately stoked on all the parts initially). It is good quilt-heart medicine.

(both photos by the wonderful Posy Quarterman)

This Momenttag:typepad.com,2003:post-6a00d83451d12469e2019b004f7e62970b2013-10-25T13:28:21-07:002013-10-25T13:29:59-07:00I started listening to Victoria Williams in college, thanks to some folk savvy friends and needing to cut my time at hardcore shows with something a little... sweeter. I don't listen to her very often anymore, but I do sing...allbuttonedup

I started listening to Victoria Williams in college, thanks to some folk savvy friends and needing to cut my time at hardcore shows with something a little... sweeter. I don't listen to her very often anymore, but I do sing her songs to the kids all the time.

This moment will never come again

I know it because it has never been before

I listen to rain outside the door... a thousand voices singing songs that ain't been sung before...

****

This last year has been difficult. I am reminded at how limited some of our coping mechanisms are in response to stress. I am constantly asking myself to lower my expectations for myself as a parent. I fail my kids in small ways every single day. I champion my kids in small ways every day. August turned six this week. He sleeps next to Manny in a big bed and I laid between them last night and told him about first seeing and holding him. I told him how horrendous his gas smelled (wrong formula). And how we changed his diaper in the Target parking lot that first week and how his poop came out bright blue (a different but equally disagreeable formula). I told him how we kept him wrapped up in blankets once we got back to Portland, and how we put his bassinet over the heating vent to keep him warm. I told him how much better he makes our family every day. I told him how difficult it was for us to say goodbye to his mama and how difficult it must have been for her to let him go.

I'm sure you're not surprised to learn that he was a tiny bit fixated on the blue poop part of the story.

****

Thanks for having these conversations here with me. And for coming and reading. I have a lot to learn and I believe that there are folks out there that come to this space that have a lot to teach me. Sometimes we don't talk about hard things. Other times, we can choose to move past our discomfort. The latter option is proving to be almost always worth it.